Bad Intentions
by ArmagonAuthor
Summary: Tag to Death Takes A Holiday... After what Pamela tells him, Sam decided that its time to leave. But when he saw the car's headlights in front of him, leaving wasn't an option anymore. Someone just might have other plans for him.
1. Chapter 1

Sam watched in horror as Pamela stopped coughing, and her breath got really shallow. A few seconds later, her chest wasn't moving.

"Pamela?" Dean's voice was raspy beside him, trying to will the psychic back into life and consciousness. "Pamela!"

Sam could feel his heart beating in his chest; his eyes still open wide. Even though he was staring right at Pamela's body, he wasn't seeing her. He didn't see Dean either, tossing him a look of utter confusion as to what had just happened. Pamela's last words echoed in his head, and he replayed them over and over, trying to find some way to prove that she hadn't said what he _thought_ she had said.

_"I know what you did to that demon, Sam. I can feel what's inside of you. If you think you have good intentions, think again."_

For the first time, Sam noticed Dean's worried eyes on his face, scrutinizing his expression. "What did she say to you?" Dean asked, still waiting for Sam to do something. Sam felt his breath hitch, the meaning slowly starting to hit him.

_"If you think you have good intentions, think again."_

What was bad about what she saw him do? He was just trying to save her life. That's all he ever did! What the hell was bad about that? Wasn't that good enough intentions?

_"Think again."_

Sam wanted to throw up, his eyes finally taking in Pamela's dead form. Pamela was dead. Dead. He couldn't save her. Everyone died when they were around him. The demon's always wanted him anyways, ever since he was a baby. And if anyone else got in the way… They died.

_"Tell Bobby Singer to go to hell for ever introducing me to you in the first place."_

By that she meant Sam, of course. It wasn't even Deans fault. None of it was. If Dean hadn't gone to hell for Sam, they wouldn't have had to involve Pamela in the first place. And it was Sam who was brought back into his body from the sprit world first, so he should have been able to save her. It was his fault she was dead.

"P-Pamela?"

It was stupid to even speak. To even breathe. Of course she wasn't going to answer. She was dead. He knew she was dead. Sam felt his breathing hitch again, getting faster and more forced with every breath.

_"If you think you have good intentions, think again."_

"Sam?"

Dean's voice went in one ear and out the other. Dead. She was dead. And it was Sam's fault. Pamela even said it was his fault. And now she was dead. Dead.

How long had Pamela known about the demon blood? Why hadn't she said anything? Why did everyone have to drop the bomb like this?

_"Dad… The demon said he had plans for me and other children like me. Do you have any idea what he meant by that?"_

_"No."_

_"I don't know when it happened… But the Sam I knew is gone."_

_"Do you think mom would have wanted this for us?" _

"_He said I might have to kill you, Sammy."_

_"Does Jessica know the truth about you, does she know the thing's you've done?"_

_"No and she's not ever going to know."_

_"There'll be collateral damage, but it has to be done."_

_"The melting silver into bullets… Dean we were raised like warriors."_

_"Sammy… you're my favorite."_

_"Sometimes, you just gotta let people go."_

_"Does this mean I have… demon blood in me?"_

_"On the bright side, I'll be there with you. That little fallen angel on your shoulder."_

_"Show your brother the killer you really are, Sammy."_

_"Sam do me a favor okay, if your going to keep your little secrets – and its not like I can stop you – but just don't treat me like I'm an idiot, okay?"_

_"You did the right thing you know… That guy was a monster, there was no turning back."_

_"If you think you have good intentions, think again."_

"…Sam?" Dean interrupted Sam's thoughts, speaking louder this time. "You okay?"

It was a question of habit, of course. Of course he wasn't okay. He had just been turned into a ghost, put back into a human, and watched his friend die in front of him. Sam and Dean were both officially _not_ _okay_. So when Dean was asking if Sam was okay, he was asking what was going on through Sam's head. What was going on? What's the problem? Why wasn't Sam talking? What was wrong with him?

_Everything is wrong with me Dean, that's the problem._

_"I know what you did to that demon, Sam."_

"Dude, talk to me." Suddenly Dean was there, standing beside Sam with a hand on his shoulder. "Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam went to talk, and the air moving to quickly in and out of his lungs seemed to prevent it. A part of him knew that he was going into shock, but not the part of him that cared. He felt Dean kneeling down beside him, a hand still glued to Sam's shoulder.

"Common man, say something. What did she tell you?"

Silence. Sam knew he looked like an idiot, just staring at Pamela's body. He should move. He should talk. What was he going to tell Dean? The truth? He didn't even know what the truth even was.

Dean looked at Sam for a minute, seeming to judge his silence. He was probably starting to realize that Sam was going into shock. Looking towards Pamela's body, and back to Sam, he also seemed piece together the idea that her there was not good for Sam's well being. Which was true.

"Sam…"Sam felt a gentle shake on his shoulder, and eventually he looked into his brother's eyes. " I'm going to take care of this, okay? I want you to go get cleaned up Sam. Don't worry about using up all the hot water, I'll be fine."

Sam felt himself being lead by the arm towards the bathroom door, and he managed out a nod. "'Kay…"

Dean frowned; probably concerned by the fact that Sam had said a total of two words since Pamela died. "…_Sam_?"

"Yeah, I uh… yeah."

Okay… so he still couldn't manage coherent sentences yet, but Sam was proud of himself for talking at all. Dean gave him a weird look that was somewhere between concern and pity, before coming to conclusions that he wasn't going to get anything better.

"You good, Sammy? Sam?"

Why did Dean keep saying his name? Did Dean think he forgot? _Sam. My name is Sam. I know!_

Even though it was annoying, it was still kind of nice to hear Dean calling him Sammy. Did that mean that he didn't think that Sam was gone anymore? Could he be considered Dean's friend again?

_Could the real Sam Winchester please stand up?_

Sam stopped in the doorway, confused by his own thoughts. Dean gave him another weird look, wondering why Sam just stopped walking all of a sudden.

_Oh god… I'm going crazy aren't I?_

A thought hit him then full throttle. What was he going to tell Dean? If he wanted to keep Dean's trust – or at least try to get it back – he had to tell Dean _something_. And what Pamela told Sam wouldn't mean anything to Dean, but it would open up a can of worms that Sam would rather leave buried. _"So…what _did_ you do to the demon Sam? How does she know about the demon blood? What the hell does she mean about not having good intentions?"_

Sam could see it now. Words would be said, fists would go flying… And Sam would probably let them. Because the truth was, Dean hadn't been far off. Ever. It was a slippery road. But it didn't mater what Sam said. There was nothing about this condition that Dean would understand. Sam didn't even get it half the time. All that left was lies. His whole life was a big fat lie. So how was he supposed to tell Dean anything this time without loosing him again?

He couldn't.

Dean looked to his brother in confusion, trying to read something in Sam's face that would tell him what had just happened. Sam was still watching Pamela, as if she was just going to spring up and call him "grumpy" any second now. He wasn't moving, and his mouth was slightly open in what Dean only assumed to be shock. If Dean didn't know any better, he would say that whatever Pamela had just told Sam had paled him a few skin tones. Something big had happened, and Dean had missed it.

"Sam?"

Nothing. Dean might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Sam didn't even acknowledge his presence.

"…Sam?" Dean spoke up, noticing that Sam flinched at the sound of his voice. "You okay?"

Sam's shoulders had risen slightly at the sound of Dean's voice, and they hesitated there. Sam seemed to be closing in on himself, and his breathing was visually getting faster. Dean suddenly realized that his brother wasn't _shocked_; he was going _into_ _shock_.

"Dude, talk to me." Dean jumped from his seat, grabbing Sam's shoulder with his hand and shaking it a bit. "Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam was as quiet as ever, which was doing nothing for Dean's nerves. "Common man, say something." He knelt down beside his brother, trying to get Sam to look him in the eye. "What did she tell you?"

It was as if Dean was invisible. Sam's eyes seemed to look right through him, and Dean turned around to see that they were still glued to Pamela's dead body. He knew that he had to get Sam out of there, that it was the only way to calm him down. Dean pushed Sam to a stand, leading him towards the first excuse he could think of; the bathroom. "Sam… I'm going to take care of this, okay?" Dean was obviously talking about Pamela, but he avoided looking at her for fear that Sam might do the same. "I want you to go get cleaned up, Sam. Don't worry about using up all the hot water, I'll be fine."

Dean was already trying to think of what he was going to do. Calling Bobby was first on his list. The hunter wasn't that far away right now, and Dean needed to know what to do with the body. _No… not the body. Pamela._ Dean took a deep breath, trying to control himself. First the woman was blinded helping him find out who had raised him from hell – which would have been revealed eventually anyways – and now he died because his _stupid_ idea to bring her into this backfired. Dean wanted to scream. But he knew he couldn't, because Sammy needed him right now. Whatever it was that Pamela had said clearly scarred the crap out of Sam, and Dean knew he needed to figure out what it was before Sam got a clear head and closed him out again. It felt wrong using Sam's emotional distress as a chance to get the truth out of him, but Dean didn't know a better way. Sam just didn't tell him things anymore.

"Kay..."

Was that it? Was that all he was getting?!

"Yeah, I uh… yeah."

_Wow, because that is just_ so_ much better…_

"You good, Sammy?" Dean shook Sam slightly by the arm, Sam moved with the motion as if he didn't even notice. "Sam?"

Suddenly Sam stopped walking, and Dean almost walked right into him. _What the hell…_

"I… I've got to go." Suddenly Sam was pulling away from Dean, headed towards the door to the motel room. He seemed a little shaky on his feet, although he was walking quickly and purposely. There was no doubt that he was trying to leave.  
"Sam, where are you going?" A few heartbeats behind, Dean hurried after his little brother just in time to have the door almost slammed in his face. Dean caught it with one arm, and threw it back open to run out into the parking lot. When he got there, Sam was running full throttle across the parking lot towards the road. Dean wasn't really sure where he was going – he had no car, and there weren't really any places to run to or hide in that direction – but Sam seemed determined to get there. Or maybe in his shock he was just running because he thought he had too. Dean just knew that Sam wasn't exactly playing with a clear head right now.

Dean ran as fast as he could, cursing the irony that fate had given his brother long legs. Sam was a good thirty feet ahead of him and still gaining ground, so when Sam cut across the side corner of the building, it took Dean a few minutes to even get close enough to –

Suddenly there was the screeching of tires, and a loud thud. Dean stopped Dean in his tracks, his mind going upside-down. _Oh god, oh god, oh god…_ "Sam!" Just as quickly as he stopped, Dean started running to the corner of the building. Dean knew a lot about cars. He knew that a car had to be going pretty fast to hit something that made that kind of a noise. And he knew that Sam has just ran out there onto the road.

Dean's foot caught on a piece of loose concrete, and his knees and hands hit the ground hard. He felt a muted crack in his left pinky, but ignored it and jumped to his feet imidiately. He kept running till he got to the corner, and jumped the little fence bordering it and the lawn, coming to the main highway…

And then he saw it.

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**Yes, I know I'm evil. If you want to know what happened, subscribe for an update soon. I'm only planning for this story to have 2-3 chapters, because I feel that it is unfair to "cheat" on my other stories. I will update them all soon too, I promise.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I was so thrilled with the fan response to the last chapter, and I hope you all keep reading! It is so amazing to have fans who tell me what they think. 14 reviews on the first chapter already is awesome guys!**

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_Dean's foot caught on a piece of loose concrete, and his knees and hands hit the ground hard. He felt a muted crack in his left pinky, but ignored it and jumped to his feet immediately. He kept running till he got to the corner, and jumped the little fence bordering it and the lawn, coming to the main highway…_

_And then he saw it._

Dean got too the edge of the building quickly, running around the corner until he could see the road. There were a few vehicles along the side of the turn-off, most of them parked beside the parking lot, and Dean's eyes scanned quickly across them. Sam wasn't anywhere to be seen. Dean's eye eventually caught on the exterior of a red pickup, which was half blocked by Dean's view but was in the middle of the road. Dean could also hear the gentle purr of the engine.

"Sam!" He ran forward, dodging the parked cars on his way to the truck. He was approaching it from the back, so it was hard to see if anyone was there. "Sam?" He came around the edge, and eventually he caught sight of something that made his blood run cold. A foot. Sam's foot.

His suspicions now confirmed, Dean ran to the front of the truck until he could see the whole body. Sam was lying on his back and side by the front bumper, and Dean knelt down swiftly by his side. "Sammy?"

Dean already knew Sam was conscious by the way he was breathing, but it still scarred him how long it took those dark green eyes to meet his own. "D-Dean?"  
"Yeah Sammy, it's me." Dean raised a hand to set on his brother's shoulder and hesitated, unsure where there might be any injuries. He looked Sam up and down, noticing a gash on Sam's chest below the left ribcage, and another by his collarbone. "Sam listen, it's going to be okay. I'm calling for help." Dean gave his brother as reassuring of a look as he could muster as he reached in his pocket for his cell phone to dial 911.

"Hello, emergency services, how may I help you?"

"Hello? My… my brother's been hit by a truck," Dean mumbled quickly. "I n-need an ambulance."

"Where are you?"

"On the corner of…"Dean looked around him, angry that he didn't know what highway he was on. " Of that highway by the Four Corners motel."

" Alright sir, we need you to stay calm. I'm sending an ambulance right now," the voice of the woman on the other end chimed, way too calm to be sane. Didn't she care that Sammy was bleeding on the sidewalk? How was Dean supposed to stay calm?!

"Yeah, okay. Just hurry!" Dean hung up, the phone falling beside him on the hard concrete with a clink. He realized that he forgot to tell her his phone number or name, and suddenly got anxious. Trying to steady himself, he turned to Sam, who was watching him with a look of pain and confusion. "Someone's coming Sammy, it's going to be okay."

"…'K-Kay…"

Dean's frown deepened as he looked at his brother. The effort to even breathe seemed difficult, and there was already a gleam of cold sweat breaking on his forehead. "Okay little brother…"Dean moved his head over Sam until his eyes were met, and calmed his face into rescue-mode. " I'm going to check you over, and I want you to tell me if anything hurts. Okay?"

That got a small nod out of Sam, whose face was palling by the second.

_"Okay,"_ Dean tried to remember John teaching them first aid as kids, their father's voice serious as he gave them instructions. _"First thing's first. Check for injuries. This is called the 'Pat and Check', because you have to be careful not to hurt the person when you are doing this." _

Dean put two fingers on the side of the back of Sam's neck, and patted a line down to the shoulders and on either side of the arm to check for blood and bruises. He could tell that Sam was physically staying still because he remembered this too, but Dean heard Sam's breath hitch when Dean bumped his side. He quickly made note of that before checking the legs, which weren't bleeding either. Looking back over at Sam, Dean hesitated. "Sam, I want you to flex your fingers and toes for me, okay?"

Dean saw the fingers on both hands move along with the boots moving slightly behind him and he nodded. "Okay, any of that hurt?"

There was a pause, in which Dean watched Sam take a slow breath. "…No."

_"Now just because the limbs aren't bleeding doesn't mean that there aren't any internal wounds…"_

"Okay Sam, good." Dean gave his brother a forced smile, his hand hesitating above the abdominal area. "Okay, now I want you to tell me if any of this hurts, okay?"

Sam nodded, but from the worried expression, Dean thought he might be preparing himself. And that wasn't a good sign. Gently, he patted either side of Sam's waist, moving up to the ribs and chest. Sam grimaced a little, and Dean nodded, moving to the middle of the chest and rib area. The second his hand touched the area between the sternum and belly button, Sam gasped and clenched his jaw, his breath hitching immediately.

Dean winced, pulling back just as a hand closed around his arm just above the elbow, and he grabbed Sam's forearm in return, ignoring the pinch on his arm as Sam grabbed a handful of his jacket. "…Sorry Sammy," Dean tried to smile and failed. _Damn…_ It was understandable to hurt after being hit by a truck… but not that much. Dean glanced again at Sam's stomach, wishing he had x-ray vision so he could verify what he already knew. Sam had internal bleeding… and bad. "It's okay little brother. Just try and breathe slowly."

There was a soft hissing sound as Sam took in a deep breath through clenched teeth, and he struggled for a minute before releasing it. When his eyes opened, Dean saw that his cheeks were wet.

"Common Sammy," Dean tightened his grip on Sam's forearm nervously, unsure what to do. "It's going to be okay. It's okay."

A noise reached Dean's senses, and his insides swelled with gratitude. Sirens. _Thank god…_

"Hear that Sammy," Dean looked down to Sam again, smiling. "That's the ambulance. It's going to be okay little bro, we're going to get you to the hospital."

When Dean heard the sound of a car door opening, Dean looked behind him suddenly. That was weird… he forgot about the driver of the truck.

"D-Dean…"Sam tugged on Dean's elbow a bit, trying to tell him something, but Dean pulled out of his grip to stand up as he heard the truck door shut.

"De… Wait…"

"Just a minute Sammy," Dean tossed his brother a reassuring look before turning to see the driver. It was a man, about thirty or so, with short red hair and farmers tan. He was staring at Sam – and Sam was staring back – and then he raised his head to look towards the road, where the ambulances were just pulling onto the road.

"Finally…"

Dean hesitated, confused. "What?"

"D..ean."

Sam's voice brought Dean back, and he quickly knelt down at his brother's side again. "S'okay, they're here. It's going to be okay."

Sam took a deep breath, speaking on the exhale. "Dean…"

"Yeah Sam, I'm here." Dean squeezed Sam's arm comfortingly. "Sam, I'm just going to stand up and wave them over so they can find us, okay?"

"No!" Sam grabbed Dean's wrist, shaking his head. "No… just…"

"Sam, its alright. I'm here. I'm just standing up to" –

"Wait…"Breath. " The… driver… he's…"

"Yeah Sam, the driver's okay too. He's going to be alright" –

"J-Just… listen. He's…"

Dean frowned, looking Sam in the eye. "He's _what_? What about him Sammy?"

Sam took another deep breath, and Dean found it disturbing how much effort it was taking to talk. "He's p… posse…"

Dean's stomach did a jolt, although he tried very hard not to flinch. "Possessed?" he mouthed, and Sam nodded, his eyes moving back to the man standing by the truck almost _too_ calmly. He did seem odd, but if he was possessed why was he just standing there? "You sure?" He whispered to Sam, who nodded. Dean looked up towards the upcoming medics, worried. The demon wouldn't hurt them, would it?

_Don't be stupid Dean, that's what demons live for._

Dean jumped when a hand was placed on his shoulder, although when he spun around anxiously he saw that it was only a woman with a red cross on her arm. "Sir," She raised her eyebrows reassuringly. "If you could please step aside, I'm going to take a look at him."

With a late nod, Dean let himself be lead out of the way by a middle-aged man with a beard. "Just… be careful," he muttered to the woman, but he was still looking at the driver of the truck. He didn't seem possessed, and hadn't shown any signs whatsoever. How did Sam even know? Did Sam's demon connection give him the ability to know if someone was possessed or not? Or maybe he was just assuming?

It was because of this thought, and the fact that Dean was too stunned to work properly, that he didn't notice the man walking towards him until he was but a foot away. He tensed, his arm moving towards the inside of his jacket and his holy water, but his arm was still being held by the medic, who didn't seem at all surprised to see a random man approaching them. Dean didn't pull away yet, knowing it would give away the fact that Dean was suspicious. "It's about time you guys got here," The man smiled at the medic, before continuing. "You are late… I was almost afraid that we killed him for a second."

_We?_ Suddenly Dean got it. This man _planned_ to hit Sam. And the medic was in on it.

Just as Dean made a move, his arms were being held back behind him. He struggled; pulling against the demon's strong grip before he heard the click of handcuffs and felt the cold metal fasten around his wrists.

"So…"The redheaded man smiled, his eyes turning black. " Dean. It's a pleasure. I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh really?" Dean glared back angrily. "It's not like I don't get that all the time…"

"I'm sure you do," the man smirked, nodding appreciatively. "Where I come from, you're famous."

"And where is that?" Dean kept his game face on, although he was sure he already knew the answer.

The man didn't say anything for a second, only smiled. "Oh… Only your little home away from home. A lot of people miss you downstairs, Dean."

"Is that so?" Dean felt that familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach; rage, shame, guilt; and he felt his eyes darken as he looked at the man.

All of a sudden, Dean heard a commotion behind him, and he saw Sam struggling against the restrains on his gurney as two medics pulled him towards the ambulance. For a moment, for a brief second, he had forgotten Sam was there. Forgotten where he was. The medics were talking to each other angrily, bickering.

"…and if you aren't going to get him to stay still, just sedate him or something!"

"You know what the boss said, no drugs!"

"He's going to make us drop him!"

"Hey!" Dean shouted angrily, pulling on the restraints of his arms. "What the hell are you doing? Let him go!"

"Now Dean…"The demon in front of him frowned, faking confusion. " I thought you wanted an ambulance. You did call us, after all."

"Yeah, but" –

A fist came across his face so fast that there was no time to react, and suddenly the man behind him had his hands under Dean's shoulders, the other grabbing his feet to lift him. He kicked against their grip, but there was barely any time to struggle before he was tossed into the back of the red pickup. He hit the metal hard, and felt a pop in his shoulder as it dislocated. Letting out a little cry of pain, he felt darkness surround him as they pulled a tarp overtop of him onto the back of the cab.

"Sorry Dean," he could hear the demon laughing as he tied the tarp down. "You asked for my help. I guess this is why you never cry wolf. You should know better by now."

Dean heard the demons walk to the front of the truck, and after a few minutes, it truck started to move. Dean felt the cab shaking underneath him, and every bump sent a jar up and down his shoulder. He tried to use the trick Sam taught him and count the minutes as the ticked by, recording every speed bump and turn in his memory. But when they made a particularly sharp turn and he slid to the side of the truck, bashing his head against the metal grating, he lost count. And feeling. And eventually, consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Guys, I'm soooooo sorry for the long wait! I've kind of been facing some health problems lately among other things, but I'm good to go now.**

**Thanks for waiting, and sticking with me. You all rock!**

**I know this isn't a long chapter, but I wanted to update as soon as I could. **

**Now back to the show!**

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The darkness lifted like a blanket, and Sam latched on to the sound of sirens around him. Confused, he struggled in vain to get his eyes open through the thick haze of unconsciousness. Even before he managed to pry his heavy eyelids open, a wave of pain hit him like a brick wall. Sam felt the pain move from his chest into his lungs and down into his stomach. He tried in vain to take a deep breath. _What the hell…_ Sam tried to breathe as slowly as he could, looking with blurred eyes around him. There was something hard and solid that wound itself behind his neck and across the front of his chest up to his chin, which successfully kept him from moving his neck or head at all. Beginning to panic, Sam tried to move his arms and legs, which felt like some sort of straps was holding them back. A clear plastic thing was around his nose and mouth, and he heard the whoosh of gas moving though the tubes. Focusing on that noise, and those of the sirens, Sam guessed that he was in an ambulance.

"…that we aren't supposed to."

"I know."

"…when he… I said not to… don't drop…"

"What are you… nope… can't be an idiot now."

_Huh?_ Sam's groggy mind tried to pick up who was talking and what about, but the few words that he managed to make out were blurry and confusing. He had trouble putting a sentence together that made any sense to him at all.

"…Hey…"Sam looked up to see a figure standing over him, but his eyes wouldn't take in the face. Everything was just a giant blur. "…Well look who finally decided… princess woke up, did she? I thought you'd never… Can you hear me?"

Sam frowned, partially because of the pain and partially because he couldn't comprehend what was happening. If he was in an ambulance… Which was a big _if_… Than why weren't they helping him? He tried to talk, but nothing came out but a small wheezing noise. "H…"_Do something!_ " H…"_Help me…__Dammit!_

"What's that?" One of the men was laughing, and Sam could see a blurred outline of a face a few feet away from his. "You… wana … speak up…little bit."

"…alone." Someone else was talking now, out of Sam's range of vision. "…not… dog… Wait, we're here…"

_Oh thank God!_ Sam felt his spirits lift a little bit, relieved that they were finally at the hospital. Soon it would be done. Soon they could just make the pain _go_ _away_!

A heavy jolt and some clapping sounds moved Sam back and forth in his restraints as the gurney shifted underneath him. The ambulance workers rounded some sort of corner and his torso slid to the side roughly. Even though a he heard a soft moaning sound, but wasn't aware of making one.

Sam's vision cleared for a few seconds, and he caught a glimpse of a dark wooden ceiling. Even though he was supposed to be in a hospital, everything seemed dismal. There were no blinding lights or violent noises, only a foreboding sense of unease and a smell that caught his nostrils and wouldn't leave.

Blood.

_Dean… _Sam tried to turn his head, but the neck brace they had on him wouldn't allow it. Where had then taken his brother? Had Dean caught the demons? Was he okay?

"…ean…"

Dean didn't reply. Dean wasn't there calling him "bitch" or patting his arm. Dean wasn't there ruffling his hair and telling him that everything was okay, that big brother was going to take care of him. No one called him Sammy. There was just a hollow laugh coming from somewhere behind his head, a sound that didn't belong to Dean in any way.

Sam's head was suddenly below his feet, and he got a sickly sense of vertigo as they began what he assumed was a downward slope. It continued for a while, as the lights continued to dim above Sam's head. They turned two more corners before coming to a stop in an area with a lower ceiling that the corridors.

Somebody was removing the restraints quickly, and Sam felt himself being lifted onto another hard surface. As his weight shifted, the pressure on his sternum intensified and a moan of pain escaped his lips before he was set down again. For a few seconds he just laid there, waiting for the soft words of a doctor. The prick of a needle in his arm and the familiar sense of anesthetics and pain medication. Soon, he told himself, the promised comforts of the hospital would start to sink in. He opened his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of something that could reassure him through the thick haze of pain and adrenaline that something or someone was about to help him.

But as something cold and hard was fastened around his wrists with a muffled clicking that restrained him once again to the bed, that thing never came. Before he blacked out again, there was only a foggy awareness of a dark room, the smell of blood, and bars on the windows.

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The first thing Dean was aware of was a deep ache in his left side, and a soft moan escaped his lips. He opened his eyes to find that he was sitting in a chair, and that his chin had fallen to his chest in his unconscious state. As he raised his head to look around him it began to pound also, and the movement made him aware of the blinding pain in his left shoulder. He sat there for a minute, trying to remember what had happened. Despite the pain, Dean could already tell the extent of his injuries. They were all familiar. His shoulder, he could already tell, was dislocated. And he had a mild concussion, which probably explained how he got here without being aware of anything. He must have it something in the truck, knocking himself out.

Dean tilted his neck slowly to the left, then the right, trying to remove the kinks from being slouched over unconscious. He pulled at his wrists instinctively, only briefly surprised that they were tied behind his back. In all seriousness, he was more annoyed and worried. Where the hell was he? Where was Sam?

Dean closed his eyes, blinking slowly a few times to will his eyes to adjust to the dark. He began to make out something a few feet away that was a little higher than level with his knees (a cot?), and after squinting out a few times his eyes caught sight of a form that made his heart fall to the floor. Somebody was lying in front of him, somebody who's legs were too long to fit the whole cot, with messy uncut hair and a bloody over-shirt. Somebody who looked either dead or close to it.

_Sam!_


	4. Chapter 4

"Sammy?" Dean's voice sounded extremely loud in the dark room, and it bounced back to him off the four walls, which he assumed where close by. "S-Sammy?!"  
Nothing. Sam just lay there, unmoving. He never even twitched.

"Sam! Sam, wake up dammit!"

A soft groan emitted from across from Dean, so soft that it almost escaped recognition.

_Sam!_ Dean's heart finally started beating again at the sound, a sure sign that his brother was at least alive. " 'atta boy Sammy, come on. Wake up for me."

The groan faded into a single word. "…ean?"

"Yeah Sammy, it's me." Dean sighed with relief, wishing badly that he were free to move closer to the cot. "How do you feel, man?"

There was a long pause, and Dean heard his brother's shallow breathing for the first time since he woke up. "Hurts…"

Dean ground his teeth together anxiously. Crap. He had almost forgotten about Sam and his suspected internal bleeding. Now this was really, _really_ bad. "Where does it hurt, Sammy?" Dean pulled at the wrist restraints. They were not only tied together it seemed, but tied down to the back of the chair somehow. His fingers scraped on the ropes uselessly, trying to find some way to pull them free, but whoever had tied them had done a good job.

"Chest…"Sam took another shallow breath, his voice barely a whisper. "…stomach…"

"It's okay Sammy, I'm going to get us out of here. Alright?"

Again, there was no answer. Dean was really starting to get freaked out by this.

"_Alright_?" He asked again, more forcefully. "Sammy?"

" 'm here…" Sam mumbled, his voice heavy and pain-ridden.

Suddenly, Dean remembered something. "Sammy, I've got a knife in my boot. If I get my foot close enough do you think you could get it out for me?"

There was another pause, and then a sigh. "…no…"  
Dean shuffled his feet until the chair was only a foot away from the cot. "Come on Sammy, I'll make it easy for you. I'm right here, man. My foot is right over here."

Sam made a sound that was a combination between pain and annoyance. "Cant…"

_And why not?_

As if he could hear Dean's thoughts, Sam shook his arms a little bit and Dean could hear a small clinking sound. Suddenly, he understood. Sam was handcuffed to the table. _Frick…_ "Alright Sammy," Dean tried to make his voice as calm as he could as he wracked his brains for any way to get out of this mess. "Alright…"He looked around the room, trying to see through the darkness to anything that could help them. Judging by the way his voice echoed back to him off the walls, the room was no bigger than the average jail cell. And there was nothing to cut himself loose with. Suddenly an idea came to his head, but he did really not like the sound of it. Truthfully he was dead against it, but there was really no other option. His poor shoulder…

Dean braced his feet against the floor, tipping the chair as far to the side as it would go before throwing back to the other side. He shook it for a few seconds before it tipped sideways and slightly backwards, and it slammed into the floor on its edge right before it landed on it's side. Teeth clenched together, he managed to silence the scream he had wanted to release as pain from his dislocated shoulder flared down his spine and into his neck. Of course, he had been lucky enough for the chair to land on his right and not crush the injured left shoulder, but it still hurt.

Of course, he hadn't been silent enough. "…Dean?!" Sam's voice was about as loud as it could probably get it right now, and Dean could hear the worry in it loud and clear.

He took another deep breath through his nose, trying to calm himself down. Worrying Sam was _not_ going to help right now. " 'm fine, Sammy," Dean managed to answer roughly, resting his head sideways against the cold floor underneath it. He just needed a minute. Just a minute… "I'm just getting free…"

There was a long pause, in which Sam seemed to be listening for Dean to continue. "…okay…" He eventually mumbled a quiet reply, and after that he was silent. Dean figured that he had rested long enough. It was time to check up on Sam… That silence was not reassuring.

He slouched down in the chair as far as he could, stretching his foot underneath the chair until it touched his hands. Clumsy with no sense of coordination in this position, Dean fumbled with the hem of his pant leg until he finally managed to uncover the ankle of his boot. Okay, step one. He searched blindly around his ankle until he found the sheath of the little knife and pulled it free, glad to let his foot go and stretch it out in front of him again. Step two… He turned the knife upside-down, careful not to cut himself as he sliced through the bondage. Painstaking efforts aside, that was a little too easy.

Dean was about to nurse those thoughts again when he suddenly remembered that he wasn't alone. He tugged his arms free from under and around the chair and his own weight, untangling his legs long enough to pull himself to a stand. The sudden movement upward sent the blood rushing out of his shoulder, and the pain came with it as he subconsciously let loose a moan of discomfort.

" 'ean…?" Sam's handcuff's clinked in the dark, and Dean cursed himself internally for being so noisy. "Wha's wrong?"

"I'm okay," Dean repeated, more to reassure Sam than to actually tell him the truth. "Just dislocated my shoulder, that's all."

Sam's tiny sigh was easy audible in the quiet room. "Crap…"

_You can say that twice._ Dean nodded in response, although he would be surprised if Sam could see it. "I'll live… I'm going to find a ledge or something to pop it back in, then I'll be right back. Okay?"

"…Okay…"

Wow, this one-sentence answer thing was getting really old, really fast. And it was kind of freaking Dean out. Was Sam having _trouble_ talking, or was he just tired? What if his lungs were filling with fluid or he had a punctured lung or something…? Hurriedly, Dean reached out his right hand and swung randomly walking forewords until he hit the wall, then he traveled the distance of the _whole_ room in about twenty or thirty seconds. He had come to a doorway, but the whole thing was made out of some thick wood and was completely solid. There wasn't even a doorknob on the inside. The whole room – outside of the door - was smooth, cold, and made of stone bricks from the feel of it. He knew that the floor was the same way. _ Okay then, so no ledges…_ He felt his way back to Sam, and in the somewhat visible outline of the table that he was laying on. He reached out a hand to touch it. It wasn't a cot, which he had expected. It wasn't even a bed, like in a hospital or a jail. It was like some giant, rectangle stone slab. How the hell did it get it here? It was the like the freaking thing just evaporated out of thin air into the room. Even though that explanation seemed almost believable, Dean figured that it had been made at the same time as the room, probably built right into the wall for this very reason. _And what reason is that?_ Dean's hand followed the pointy edge of the slab until it came to a little round half-circle melted into the stone. It was on top of the table, although it was close to the edge. _Okay then…_ His fingers moved upwards until they came to another, larger link of metal threaded through the loop, and then they followed up this chain until he came in contact with the handcuff around Sam's wrist.

Probably not expecting this unexpected touch, Sam's hand pulled away quickly. "Whoa," Dean couldn't help being surprised, not expecting to find this either. "Sorry man, It's just me." He tried to force a laugh, but his throat was suddenly unexpectedly dry. The loop hadn't been forced _to _the table, but built right into it. There was a handcuff attached right to it, and Dean was sure there was another loop and cuff on the other side. It was like the stone slab was built with them already intact. Like it was built for this very purpose.

So the room was built to host the stone slab, which was built to host the loop, which was built to host the handcuffs…

_Holy shit._

The force of the thought hit Dean like a brick wall, and he actually found himself loosing his balance from the half-crouch by the table and landing on his but. Of course, that jarred is shoulder, which in turn made him cry out in pain, which caused Sam to pull at his restrains.

"Dean?!"

"…Still okay…"Dean raised his good arm in the air in hopes that Sam could see it, and then used it to shove him to a stand. "Just checking the floor for … you know… trap doors and stuff."

There was another pause. A long one. Of course, Sam was probably trying to come up with some way to call out Dean on his bluff. Dean could already picture the "how to make fun of Dean in two words or less" game show going on in his head, but instead Sam just sighed. "…kay…"

_Kay? Kay?!_ Dean's mouth dropped so low that he wouldn't have been surprised if he had started drooling. That was all Sam had to say? _KAY?!_ Now if anything that Dean hadn't seen yet in this room hadn't made him freak out yet, this definitely took the cake. Sammy was _out_ of it if he couldn't see past that lie in two seconds.

Dean heard a small shuffling sound, and he wondered how comfortable that stupid stone slab really was. "…Dean?'

"Yeah Sammy?"

"You can't get your shoulder back in…"Deep breath. " Can you?"

If Dean hadn't been caught by the absurdity of the question he would have stopped to think that Sam had actually managed seven words in one breath. But since he wasn't on that train of thought, it never occurred to him. Instead he was wondering why his brother would ask. "No Sam," He admitted half-heartedly. "It's not really working out too well here…"

Sam sighed again. "…helped you…"

"What?"

"I always helped you… before…"

When Dean finally understood what Sam was getting at, he couldn't help smiling. Sam was concerned about him. Impractical as that was right now, it was still nice to know. "Yeah Sammy, you always helped me with this before. But I can find a way. Don't worry about it."

Somehow Dean's eyes must have adjusted again without him noticing, because now he could make out Sam's facial expression. There were a lot of things that Dean could have read into it, the more obvious emotions of those being exhaustion, confusion and pain, but there was also concern in there too. And he could tell that Sam was _definitely_ going to worry about it.

"I'm okay Sam…"Dean repeated again, stopping the argument before it began. There was no point getting Sam worked up just so that he could hurt himself even more than he already was. Considering their situation, Sam's own strength and immunity was more important than anything Dean could do for him. So he had to take use of that. "Dude, I'm going over here to find something that can get you free so I can bust us out of here." He went to walk away – even though "away" was about five steps in the opposite direction – but at Sam's voice he stopped.

"…you can't…"

Stupid, stubborn little brothers. Wasn't it an unwritten rule that the oldest was always right? "Yes I can, Sammy." Dean gave his brother the most reassuring look he could create in two seconds, although from this distance he couldn't really tell if he was looking at Sam or the wall… or if Sam even saw the look. "I'm going to get us out of here and then we are going to spend a good month in Mexico or someplace equally hot with nude beaches… and as long as we are on separate beaches then we will be fine."

Sam didn't laugh at the joke, or even do _anything_ to show that he had heard it. Dean sobered immediately.

"Can't…"Sam still wouldn't let it go, and Dean sighed. "…can't hold my weight like that…. You can't…"

Of course, little brother had to be such a nerd and think of that even before Dean could. Sam was right. No, Dean _couldn't_ carry his 6'4, 200 pound little brother out of this room and into ­who-knows-where outside it. Not when moving Sam the wrong way could kill him, or balancing the wrong weight on Dean's shoulder could make him go unconscious. Dragging Sam wasn't even an option… and that was too slow anyhow. Heck, carrying his brother's weight on a good day would have been amazing enough, let alone this. Sam was right… if Dean was going to get them out of here, he needed his shoulder fixed first.

"I'm working on a theory, Sammy." Dean dismissed the idea completely, hopping that Sam wouldn't continue with his train of thought. But knowing Sammy that wouldn't be the case.

He heard Sam take a few deep breaths – shaky and slow ones at that, but Dean could hear the difference – as if he was preparing himself for something. "H…help me up. I can do it…"

"Are you mental?!" Before he could help himself, Dean found himself shouting at the request. "How the hell are you supposed to do it?"

Sam didn't seem shaken by his outburst. In fact, he seemed prepared for it. _Typical Sammy_. "…just…just picklock the cuffs… and I'll pop it back in. I can do this."

Dean wanted to shout again. Dean _really_ _really_ wanted to tell Sam that he was an idiot and that Dean was more likely to let a giant penguin in a tux pop his shoulder back in… but Sam had a point. He hated the thought, but Sam really _did_ have a point. It was like some stupid, sadistic puzzle. Sam was hurting, So Dean had to get him out. For Dean to get Sam out, he had to get his shoulder fixed. For Dean to get his shoulder fixed, he had to let Sam do it. For Sam to do it, he would have to sit up. If Sam sat up, it would hurt him. If Sam was hurting, then Dean would have to get him out…

_Dammit!_

He sighed, running his free hand over his face. If the pain in his shoulder would just die down for a second, then maybe he would have some room to think. Just a second! That was all he wanted. Maybe Sam was right…

_No he's not, not he's not!_

But I have to get him out…

Dean took a few hesitant steps towards Sam, then when he came to the edge of the block he leaned against it to kneel down – without falling this time – and pull out a paperclip from his boot. When he stood up again he sighed before grabbing one of Sam's wrists. Sam didn't even flinch at the touch, probably prepared for Dean to make this decision on his own, and didn't say anything until Dean was done picking the locks on both wrists free.

Carefully, Dean leaned over his brother while trying to figure out how to best get him into a sitting position with one arm when a hand fisted in his shirt. The other one followed, and in return Dean grabbed about as much of Sam's jacket as he could in one fist and pulled. Even though Sam was heavy, he wasn't deadweight. Dean could tell that he was trying. And once the younger Winchester was into a sitting position he practically collapsed against Dean's arm with the effort. The little moan of pain didn't go unnoticed either, although Dean had a feeling that Sam had tried to stifle it on his behalf.

"Alright Sammy," Dean patted Sam's arm gently, waiting until his breathing quieted. "How are we going to do this?"

"Turn around…"

Dean sat on the edge of the stone block, turning his back to Sam and wincing as one hand was rested on his left shoulder and the other slightly above it. Not only did he _not_ think that Sam could do this right now, but he didn't think that he would be able to continue to hold Sam's weight on his shoulder for much longer. In truth, Sam would probably just jolt it in the other direction and fall in the meantime, causing them both pain. _Wonderful…_ But even though there was harm in trying, they still had to do it anyways.

"…trust me, Dean…" Sam's voice was quiet, but there was a but of humor to it. Dean frowned, surprised. Sometimes, he wondered if mind reading really was one of Sam's freaky mind-powers and he just didn't admit it. Cause seriously, Sam always seemed to know…

"Count of three?" Dean's voice was shaky, and he cursed himself for being scared. _Dude, you've taken worse than this before. Be a man._

He could almost sense Sam nodding behind him. "…one…"

_Crack!_

Suddenly there was a surprising amount of force on his shoulder, and he cried out as it popped back into place. Sam's hand had tightened on his shoulder, but it hadn't left. Even though he had managed to do that for Dean, he now seemed to be resting against Dean's back. He resisted the urge to jump up and roll his shoulder around in the socket a few times, deciding that first he had to get Sam laying back down. The poor kid was exhausted.

"Common, Sammy." Dean gripped Sam's hand on his shoulder, turning around and grasping the other arm too. "Let's get you back into nap-time mode."

Sam didn't comment – yet again – on the joke, although Dean heard Sam snort softly under his breath. The second he was laying down again his whole body seemed to sink into the stone from fatigue, and any sign of laughter was gone from his face, replaced with agony. Taking this opportunity to quickly roll his arm back into use, Dean's eyes never left his brother. This was not good. This was _so_ not good…

Once Sam seemed to catch his breath again, his eyes reflected some unknown light source as they moved to Dean. "…told'ya…"

Dean hesitated, confused. "Told me what, Sam?"

"To trust me…"

It was hard to keep the smile from Dean's face, even though there were tears in his eyes. "Yeah man, of course I trust you. I'd trust you with my life."

Sam nodded softly, his eyes on the ceiling. "M-Me too…"

Dean's smile faded as he realized just what that statement meant, considering that right now Sam was trusting _Dean_ with _his_ life.

Dean only hoped that he was as trustworthy as Sam was.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam listened to Dean's footsteps circling the room for the hundredth time, and each time Dean came to a dead end there were curses. Sam ground his teeth together, trying to breathe through the invisible knife is his gut. "…found anything?" The words came out strained and quiet, and already Sam felt a little bit more breathless than he had before. Of course, he knew that Dean was doing his best to get Sam out of there. Dean always did. But couldn't he go a _little_ faster?

There was grumbling coming as a reply from the other corner of the room. "No. Room's like a freaking tomb."

Sam winced at the choice of words. Tomb. The place was a tomb. It was going to be _his_ tomb soon if he didn't get out of there soon. He looked upwards – which wasn't very hard considering that he was laying on his back – towards the tiny little window way up above his head. "…'ean…"

There was a shuffling of feet, and suddenly his brother was visible. "Yeah Sammy?"

He jerked his chin upwards, for lack of better words, and Dean saw the window. He swore again. "It's pretty high up… and small."

There was nothing to say, so Sam just kept his eyes on his brother and waited for some sort of epiphany. Dean was the smartest person he knew… He had to know _some_ way to get them out of here.

Dean saw the look, and he bit his lip. The pressure was on. "I… uh… maybe I should take a look?"

Sam nodded, shifting his body – painfully – to the right, until his shoulder was up against the stones. Hopefully that would be enough room for Dean to stand on the slab, cause he couldn't give Dean any more than that. Sam took a slow breath, wincing at the tight pressure on his lungs, and got ready to speak. Somehow Dean beat him to the punch and read his mind, because a hand squeezed his wrist for a fraction of a second before letting go. "I got this, Sam." Dean put his hands carefully on the table, swung one leg at a time onto the hard surface and then crouched there for a minute like a cat ready to pounce. If Sam had actually been able to laugh without crying out in pain, he would have. But he knew that all the precaution and odd postures were so that Dean wouldn't step on his little brother. So Sam let it go.

Now, Dean stood slowly – it was a balancing act, on such a small surface area – and leaned to the left and rested his hand against the wall overtop of Sam. They both saw the dilemma here: Dean couldn't jump up and hang onto the window without the possibility of falling on Sam. He needed more room.

Sam put his feet up on the table, bending his knees and pulling himself down towards the end of it. Dean started mumbling something about having enough room and Sam shouldn't have to do that, but Sam wasn't really listening anyways because the pounding in his head drowned out most everything else. He let his knees come up to his chest, rolling onto his side and wrapping his arms around his legs. The movements brought on an odd feeling, like his insides had all shifted inside of him, and suddenly there was pain there. He wanted to vomit.

Maybe sensing this, Dean was on his hands and knees again, his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Whoa, Sammy. You okay there, kiddo?"

_Kiddo?_ Sam wanted to laugh, but it would have hurt too much. Dean hadn't called him "kiddo" since… well he couldn't remember the last time Dean called him that. Had to be over ten years ago. At least. Make it twenty years ago. If Dean was calling Sam "kiddo," that mean that he was seriously freaked. How did Dean even know? Sam didn't remember making any noise… He hadn't moaned in pain, had he?

"…Sam?" Dean was kind of leaning over him now, one hand on the wall so he wouldn't fall off the slab under his feet. "Dude, answer me. Where does it hurt?"

He couldn't breathe. Sam went to talk, but the air wouldn't come. It was a sudden pressure on his chest, like someone had wrapped a jiant metal band around his lungs. He tried to push it, but nothing came out but a small choking noise.

"Sam?" Dean's eyebrows almost went into his hairline and he moved into action quickly, jumping off the table and pulling on Sam's shoulder. "Sam, you've got to breathe, okay?" He pulled Sam's weight towards him, rolling him on his back, and sort of hovering there not sure where to touch him, or if he should touch him. "Dude, you gotta breathe."

Sam tried to talk, tried to tell his brother that he couldn't breathe, except for the fact that he _couldn't breathe_. His chest was moving, but there was a weight on it that wouldn't leave and now there was something in his airways and he tasted blood and he couldn't breathe and he tasted blood and he couldn't breathe and –

_Thud. _ Sam's head lifted off the table for a split second and impacted again hard as something jammed into his chest, sending pain shooting into his gut and up his spine.

_Thud._ His vision blurred for a second, but then he saw Dean leaning over him, his shoulder's tense and his arms on Sam's chest. He raised his shoulders for a second, and Sam was about to wonder what he was doing when he felt the impact again. The pain jarred again and his lungs ached but he still couldn't breathe, and the realization hit him that Dean was trying to do CPR. Dean lifted his shoulders again, straight arms holding folded fists under Sam's sternum, and then suddenly it came gain.

_Thud._ Dean's face went black, and suddenly everything was blurry.

"…dammit Sam don't you do this….just breathe, I know you can just….come on Sammy, please… don't you die on me…"

_Thud._ Sam's head lifted up again, but he didn't feel it hit the hard surface after that. He couldn't feel his body. He wanted to say something, to make some motion or even look at Dean in some way to let him know that no, he wasn't dying, but then it hit him that he was. He _was _dying and there was _nothing_ he could do about it.

And death sure hurt like a bitch too, he noticed.

But he couldn't die! They still had to stop the apocalypse from happening. Sam still had to kill Lilith. What would happen if no one else could do it and he died? Would Lilith bring on the end of the world while he was rotting in the ground? And not only that, but Sam couldn't leave Dean alone. They were brothers. They had to be together. _Not _dying was like the number one rule in the Winchester rule-book. If Sam died, Dean would kill him. Or even worse, he'd go to heaven and _dad_ would kill him.

"…'am, do you hear…"

_Thud._ But heaven couldn't be that bad, Sam realized almost calmly. That's why it was called Heaven, after all. It would be paradise. Mom, dad, Jess… Everyone he ever knew and loved there with him. There would be no sadness, or pain. No worries, no apocalypse, no Lilith or Alistair or seals or demon blood –

_"I know what you did to that demon, Sam." _ Pamela's voice echoed in his head, and he could almost feel her dying breath against the side of his neck again. _"I can feel what's inside of you. If you think you have good intentions, think again."_

Or what if he wasn't going to heaven? Maybe God didn't want blood-sucking physic freaks up there. Had he screwed up his chances? Or maybe he was _never _supposed to go to heaven. Maybe he had been screwed since the day his mom made the deal with Azazel. Maybe he was going to hell.

_Thud._

Dean was still there, pounding away on Sam's chest. Maybe he was still talking – Sam thought he saw Dean's lips moving – but everything was too blurry to tell, and frankly Sam couldn't hear a damn thing anymore. But the important part was that Dean was _there._ Dean, who had never ever left him his entire life. And Sam _still_ hadn't told him the truth. He was _still_ lying to Dean. Was this it? Was he going to die here, without telling Dean the truth?

_"If you think you have good intentions, think again."_

If Sam's lungs had held out a second longer, he would have noticed the first sob that escaped his brother's lips. And the next. And the next. But as it was, he missed them all. And everything went dark.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx

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I will update as soon as I can. Sorry about the slow updates, but frankly it's hard to get the time in. I'm trying as hard as I can guys! I will update soon.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean turned away from the far wall when Sam grunted in pain behind him. His brother had somehow managed to pull himself into a tiny ball at the foot of the stone slab. "It's okay," Dean said a little louder than perhaps he needed too. "You don't need to do that."

Either Sam wasn't listening or he didn't hear Dean, and he rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around himself. Dean looked at him for a second, unsure whether to climb the window quite yet or not, when Sam moaned again. Even though he was turned away from Dean and in the dark, his body language – tight spine, hugging his knees to tight – spoke volumes about how much pain the kid was in right now.

"Whoa Sammy, you okay there kiddo?" Dean got down on his hands and knees again and got as close to Sam as he could, putting a cautious hand on the younger man's shoulder.

Sam didn't respond, and Dean reached out and braced one hand against the wall so he could look over at Sam's face. He didn't like what he saw. "…Sam?" His little brother flinched, his eyes squeezing shut and shooting open a few times. "Dude, answer me." Dean shook Sam's shoulder slightly, to no response. "Where does it hurt?"

Dean pulled his eyes away from Sam's face long enough to notice the rest of him. His chest was moving slightly in and out, really fast, and he seemed to be unable to breathe. A noise escaped his throat, almost like he was choking on something.

Hurriedly, Dean jumped down from the table and pulled Sam's weight towards him until he was lying out on his back. "Sam, you've got to breathe, okay?" Sam moaned in pain with the motion, but it didn't appear to be under his control at all. He was still moving his chest up and down, trying to force the air into his lungs, but it wasn't working. Dean had his hands out, but he wasn't sure how he could help. Because of Sam's critical condition, he knew that the wrong movement of any kind could kill his brother. A broken bone internally could pierce an organ or a major artery, or his blood could clot, or his lungs could fill with fluid. Sitting him up, moving him, giving him chest compressions; any of these could kill Sam. Or they could save him.

Dean didn't know what to do, and his hands started to shake with panic. "Dude, you've gotta breathe!"

Sam's eyes bored into Dean's, and he could see that his brother was panicking. By now, his chest was heaving too harshly to _not_ get any air, and all the cords in his neck were tightly clenched. He couldn't breathe. Sammy couldn't breathe!

The risk was too great now for Dean to follow reason. Doing CPR could kill Sam right now, but if he didn't do it than Sam was going to die for sure. He quickly found Sam's sternum, then moved an inch or two down and placed his hand – palm up – in that spot. He put the other hand on top of it, closing his hands into a fist and leaning forward so that his arms were rigid. He put a lot more weight into the middle of Sam's chest than he would have dubbed safe in any other circumstances, and tried not to wince as Sam's body curled slightly inward with the harsh impact.

"Dammit Sam, don't you do this to me!" Dean counted the chest compressions in his head, but began loosing count in a few seconds. "Just breathe, I know you can just breathe. Come on Sammy, please. Don't you die on me!"

Sam's eyelids fluttered somewhere in between open and closed, and behind them Dean saw white as Sam's eyes kept rolling back upwards as he bordered unconsciousness. His head would lift off from the table every once in a while from Dean's chest compressions, but it didn't jolt the man into anything. Dean bit his lip between his teeth, stopping to check for breathing. Until now, he hadn't even noticed that there was blood on Sam's lips. "Sam, do you hear me? Sam!?"

_No, no, no, no, no…._

Despite Dean's efforts, Sam didn't respond. He just lay there bleeding, unmoving. Unresponsive. Dean pulled his hands off of Sam's chest long enough to feel along Sam's neck for a pulse.

There was nothing there.

Dean choked back tears, and a sob escaped his lips. "No Sammy, no, no…"Dean tilted Sam's head back and made a circle with his fist, placing it over Sam's mouth as a crude filter and bringing his own mouth to the open fist and blowing in air. He took another deep breath, forcing that in also. He turned his head to the side, looking for breathing, feeling for hot breath on his face, but there was nothing. "Come on Sammy, please. Come back, Sam." He pulled his hand away from Sam's face, ignoring the blood on his fingers that he had somehow kept out of his own mouth. Quickly, he started going at the chest compressions again, the room around him blurry in a fog of tears and noisy sobs. After a while, he had forgotten his pattern, or how long he had been doing it. He closed his eyes, tears running down his face and clinging to the end of his nose and the underside of his chin, dripping down his neck and onto Sam's chest in a salty, snotty mess. _No, no, no, no, no, no…_

Suddenly Dean heard a soft choking noise, and almost immediately afterwards Sam started coughing, his eyes shooting open in pain.

"Sam!" Dean put a hand on his brother's shoulder to keep him from sitting up when he tried too. "Jesus Sammy, just breathe. It's okay. It's gonna be okay. Just breathe slowly."

There was a little coughing, some wheezing and a lot of time before Sam's eyes finally met Dean's. "De…" He took a deep breath – which didn't seem to easy or pleasant by any means – and groaned softly. "Ugh…"

"Relax Sammy, just take it easy." Dean leaned foreword, rubbing Sam's shoulder softly. "It's okay, you're okay."

As hard as it was to keep a protective and hopeful expression, Dean forced one on his face and hoped that Sammy would buy it. But deep inside, they both knew that he was lying.

Sam took a minute to get his breathing down, and when he finally spoke his words were airy and soft. "…Dean…"Hazel-green eyes were glued to the ceiling, refusing to meet their genetic twins across the space between them. "…I think …I'm in trouble…"

Dean's first instincts were to tell Sam that he was wrong, that Dean knew what he was doing. That he was going to get Sam out of there okay. But the fact was, that Dean didn't think he could lie to Sam if he couldn't lie to himself. Sam _wasn't_ alright. Dean _didn't _know how to get his brother out of there. "Yeah Sammy, we are." Hopefully, Sam caught the meaning behind Dean's word change. If Sammy was in trouble, Dean was in trouble. Enough said.

Sam's lip curled in a bit of a smirk and he raised his eyebrows a little bit, making Dean smile. That was a Sammy bitch-face if ever he saw one, and Sam was doing it on purpose. "We?"

Dean nodded. "Mhmm. _We._ I don't know about you, but I could use a hot shower right now."

Sam laughed softly, but it wasn't long before the motion caused him to gasp in pain, grabbing onto Dean's arm.

"Sorry man, just take it easy." Dean squeezed Sam's arm back, hating how rugged Sam's breathing sounded right now.

Taking a few deep breaths, Sam started coughing and pulled on Dean's sleeve a little bit. Dean tried not to flinch when a little bit of blood landed on the front of his shirt.

"D'n?"

"Yea Sammy," Dean replied softly, leaning forewords a bit so that Sam didn't have to speak up. "What is it?"

"I…uh…"Sam's jaw locked in pain for a second, his eyes squeezed closed. "I t'ink… we should find…who's… outside."

Even though it was a logical hunters' question, Dean froze. Sam was trying to rush the big meeting. _Find out who's outside._ _Someone_ had locked them in here, and Sam was in a hurry to get the fight over with. He didn't think he had much time left.

"S-Sure Sammy, good idea. I'll go make a scene." Dean hesitated for a minute, relishing the feel of his brother's arm under his hand. What if this was the last chick-flick moment he would have with his brother? What if the enemy outside that door killed them all the second he brought the fight on? What if Sammy didn't even last that long?

It didn't matter, Dean realized. The showdown had to happen eventually, and this was what Sam wanted. They couldn't sit here forever. If Dean didn't at least try and get Sammy out of here, that would be worse than killing Sam himself.

Was it his dying wish?

_Stop it Dean! He's not gonna die!_

Wiping his face with a coat sleeve, Dean came away with less tears, snot, blood, and sweat than had been there before. Back turned to his little brother – his little _dying_ brother - he strutted over to the door on the far side of the wall and started pounding on the door. And then he started screaming.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean bellowed until his throat was hoarse, kicking the door and pounding it with his fists enough times that afterwards his limbs felt like battered lead. But after who-knows-how-long of making as much of a ruckus as he could, he couldn't help feeling a sense of relief – albeit topped with fear – when he finally heard footsteps echoing outside. "Kay Sammy, they're commin…" Dean backed away from the door a bit so that he was standing in the middle of the room and took a defensive stance. Beside and behind him, Sam strained to see the doorway.

They were ready.

Suddenly realizing his biggest mistake, Dean quickly felt down his pockets for any form of a weapon. _How did I not think to check…_ There. Dean's hand stopped over the back of his waistband, and he almost danced in disbelief. _Thankgod, thankgod, thankgod, thankgod…_ He pulled out his .45, banging it against his palm quickly to make sure that the magazine was clicked in correctly. There wouldn't be time to check it, hopefully it was full… And hopefully it wasn't completely useless to whatever was out there. He pulled the safety back.

They were ready.

Dean could hear Sam shuffling around in the distance, probably following Dean's lead and checking his own pockets. Dean didn't really like the muffled grunts of pain as Sam moved around, or the fact that if he had a weapon, Sam wouldn't really be able to use it anyways... but the fact that his little bro would be just a little bit more protected was a comfort. He heard Sam cock his own gun, and it sounded like he had tried to muffle the sound with his hand to keep it nice and quiet. _Attaboy Sammy._

They were ready.

Whoever was outside stopped pacing outside the door, and Dean raised his gun.

They were ready.

Without warning the door sprung open with inhuman speed, and three men charged in. In the dark it was hard to tell what was going on, but what with the claustrophobic space and the obviously large size of the men charging right at him, Dean started shooting without much thought. It only took him a few seconds to realize that it was useless, but by the time this thought hit his brainwaves he was already flying halfway across the room. He hit the far wall with a violent slap, and the air whooshed from his lungs without having to put up much of a fight.

They were _so _not ready.

The three men jeered in his direction – or at least they seemed to jeer… it was hard to tell in the dark – and crowded into the corner as if to make room for someone else. Dean's eyes moved to the open doorway, where a light seemed to be traveling the hallways on its own.

In the half-second before he got his air back, Dean could have sworn that that meant that the demons were working for Tinkerbell.

The light continued to bounce off the walls until it was apparent that it was from a lamp (not a fairy) that was making the lights bounce back and forth across the tiles, and not long after Dean made this brilliant realization the final man strolled into the room lazily. The oil lamp in his hand wasn't very bright, but suddenly everything was in perspective. In the corner were the three stooges; Dean recognized them from the ambulance. The room was about ten feet around or less, lined up with stone from wall to ceiling, and yes the stone table _was_ in fact connected to the floor. But this wasn't the most troubling factor. The thing that stuck out most and firstly to Dean was the dead-white eyes of the middle-aged man in front of him with the beard and the slight under-bite. Dean's insides turned to jelly.

"Alistair."


	8. Chapter 8

**It's been too long since I've updated this story. I wish I had more time to write, but what with finals coming up right away and a new job, my time is very limited. **** I will have to squeeze in more writing time VERY soon, because I adore my stories and the people who read them (that's you guys!). :D I hope you enjoy! **

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"Well Dean," Alistair hissed, his lower jaw protruding slightly. "It's been too long. I haven't seen you in what... A few hours?" As he shrugged, his lips curved into a smirk. "I must say, you were no fun as a ghost. But this whole flesh-and-blood thing is very becoming."

Dean himself tried to smirk, but turned into a sort of grimace. "What can I say? I eat my green veggies. Now what do you want?"  
Putting on the obvious pretense that he was taken aback, Alistair put a hand on his chest. "What do _I_ want? Well that's interesting. If I remember correctly, Dean, _you_ called _me_ down here. Shouldn't I be asking you that? 'Dean, what do you want?' "  
It was a test. Had to be. Dean took a few seconds to collect his temper and lock it up, for the time being at least. What did he want? Other than the obvious? Flexing his jaw so that his teeth pressed together, he sighed internally. "Why the truck?"  
The question caused Alistair to bare his teeth in something close to a smile. "You like? Well I was hoping for a mustang, but I guess we can't always get what we ask for." He looked pointedly at Sam, who was watching the scene with a tense expression. "Right Sammy?"  
Sam didn't say anything, didn't _do_ anything but stare back, and Alistair's head tilted to the side a bit. Dean knew that look. He had memorized that look frontwards and backwards, and it had been the main image in his nightmare for years. Alistair was analyzing his prey. "Now Sammy... let's not forget our manners" -  
"It's Sam."

_Shut up, just shut_up, _Sam_! Dean's face felt tight as he tried his absolute hardest to learn telepathy, but his brother just wasn't getting the hint.

"What were we talking about again?" Alistair's face turned back to Dean.

For some reason, going back to this made Dean feel better. Any second spent keeping him away from Sammy was a second well spent. He smiled. "Cars. Mustangs, actually."

"Right. You know, Dean..." Alistair did that little twitchy thing that always freaked Dean out, almost like he was on drugs or something. "You always did have a good memory. I remember that about you. All it would take was one try to teach you something new."

It would always come back to what had happened in hell, wouldn't it? Dean wished that the past would just die. As if the guilt and the nightmares weren't enough, Alistair had to keep freaking following him around like a lost puppy or something. More like a lost bulldog, actually. _Just leave me alone!_ He frowned, searching for some sarcastic remark that would steer the conversation in some other direction. But he also knew that it would just be time-stalling. It wasn't like they were just going to make small talk all night. They were being held captive in a freaking cellar, in the dark, by Hell's grand inquisitor. Alistair obviously had _some_ endgame here, and it didn't look like it was going to end well. Eyes sliding sideways, Dean scanned the table built into the wall where Sam was. Now the handcuffs were starting to make sense… Had Alistair built –

Looking in the direction of the table also, Alistair chuckled. "No Dean, that isn't my work. Please, _please_ tell me you aren't admiring poor craftsmanship like that."

Dean couldn't help reeling at the near mind-reading that just went on. But he recovered quicker than he had before. "What, don't tell me you are insulted? I don't even have my camera here. This is a Kodak moment."

"I would be insulted too, to have made something like that." He turned his head in Sam's direction. "You know what's wrong with a table like that, Sammy?"

Sam, who had long ago quieted down but had been watching the whole altercation with a look of revulsion on his face, sighed. "Well the room service is a little rude, for starters. Hard to think much about the beds."

Dean was torn between being proud of his brother's bravery and terrified that it wouldn't work. Alistair just shook his head. "No, no. That's not it." He waggled a finger in the air, walking towards the table slightly. "I thought it would be obvious. The table is only one-sided." He drew an invisible line above the edge of the table, and Dean noticed Sam tensing. Dean pulled on his invisible restraints again as Alistair turned his face sideways to see him, walking backwards slowly until his legs hit the side of the stone slab, and all the while talking while he did so. "You can only get to the table from the one side. And what fun is that? I thought you would have noticed that as a flaw right away, Dean. I can see where you would neglect to think about things like that, what with being so _spoiled_ and having everything provided for you … but what did I teach you? Convenience, convenience, convenience. It wouldn't do any good if the person on the table has more breathing space than you, would it?"

This conversation would be completely scary and confidence-sinking as it is, let alone happening in Sam's presence. And considering that Sam was the one _on_ the table right now, it was hard to be assertive or realistic about the whole situation. It hurt to think.

Of course, Alistair saw it. The son of a bitch saw everything. He smiled grimly. "Somebody needs to be taught some new lessons."

It was like being backed between a corner and a hard place. Wincing internally, Dean held his ground on the outside. "You can't teach an old dog new tricks, Alistair. Sorry to disappoint."

Alistair moved the short distance it would take for him to sit down on the stone table, leaning his weight back on his hands a bit. When Sam's face was the only thing that flinched, Dean registered that he wasn't the only one being held by the invisible force. The grin on Alistair's face didn't waver, but all the while his eyes showed some kind of amused spark. "Whoever said I was talking about you?"

Woah. Come again? Dean's mind did a temporary stand-still as the meaning of Alistair's words caught up with him, and he couldn't keep himself from leaving his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. "You I wont – you can't – you son of a-a – Y-You… No."

"What?" Before him, Alistair crossed his arms in front of his chest smugly. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Y-You dead s-spineless son of a bitch." Dean could hardly get the words out, his head was spinning so fast. This couldn't be happening. Alistair was his problem. Not Sam's. That's why he made the deal in the first place. His problems, not Sam's. _Damnit!_

" Calm down… Didn't I just say that the table was all wrong?"

That got him to shut up fast. "What?"

"You need to relax, Dean." Alistair tilted his head to the side for the second time that night. "Let's just call this a… social experiment. Comprende? All I want is a chance to get to know baby bro a bit more, see if he's anything like Winchester parts one and two. You've still got your guns, knives, holy water, and all of your little toys. Everything but picklocks and cell phones. _I_'ve got my stone room. Now all Ihave to do is walk out that door, lock it right back up, and wait."

"Wait for _what_?" His voice was a bit more of a growl this time. At least he wasn't stuttering anymore.

Alistair took his time standing up, but the second there was any space behind him, two of his minions slid in and grabbed hold of Sam.

"Woah. Hold on a second" –

"This is simple, Dean." Alistair continued walking, now in his full glory, until they were face-to-face. "Sam's become a problem."

Dean could see that the two men who had Sam were trying to put him back into the handcuffs, but that the kid was putting up a surprisingly good fight. A loud punch to the gut changed things however, and Sam's muffled cry of pain proved that.

"Hey! Leave him _alone_" –

"I'm talking to you." Alistair grabbed Dean's jaw and turned his face back towards him. "Now this is about as straightforward as it's going to get. I'm not happy with you right now, but I'll deal with you when this is all over. Right now, you are worthless. Hear me? _Worthless._ There isn't a single thing you can do, or a single reason for you to even be here other than I need a way to keep you out of harms way. But your brother on the other hand, has something that I want. And until I get it, you two aren't getting out of here." He let go of Dean's face so violently that Dean he was sure that there would be handprints on either side of it. Alistair smiled, and gestured breezily to his men. They all left the room like obedient little dogs, and when Dean got a glimpse of Sam he realized that he was already in the handcuffs again. They all made a move to leave.

Dean felt like a little kid in time-out who didn't understand how he got there. Was Alistair leaving? "I… I don't understand."

Alistair stopped to pick up the oil lamp off the ground, his back to Dean. When he blew it out, the room turned the colour of coal. "You will."


	9. Chapter 9

Like the screeching of a crow, the door cried on its hinges as it was forced shut in the darkness, making Dean start. A soft booming echo signaled it's closing, and there was the sound of a larch bolt being slid into place. Once again, they were trapped in here. Alistair had just locked them in like rats in a cage.

The invisible push against Dean's body lifted, and he was air-born for a whole of two seconds before his back slid backwards against the wall, his heel hit sideways on the ground, and his knees buckled underneath him. When he landed on his side – and his sore shoulder – he couldn't help the cry of surprise that was pushed through his lungs. The stonework underneath Dean's chest was cold between the flaps of his jacket, and it made the bumps on his skin raise precariously. He was exhausted.

Even though he would have wished to lie on the floor till the end of existence, Dean pushed himself to shaky elbows, knees, and eventually feet. Sam. Sam was still hurt.

"Sammeh..." Dean's voice came out as one big slur as he stumbled over in the direction where he hoped to find the table, and had to take a few slow and deep breaths to calm down the heart that was pounding adrenaline through his shaking body. Puffing up his cheeks to slow down an exhale as he sensed something to his left, he kicked his leg out sideways and his toe brushed stone.

"Sam?" He lowered his voice to the calmest tone that he could force out, and sat down on the edge of the stone block warily. Reaching out to touch Sam's wrist, he noticed that his brother's hands were fisted tightly. He could hear Sam's breathing, and while it was too soft it was also much quicker than it should be. Like the way someone breathed when they were in pain. "Hey…" Dean rubbed his hand up and down Sam's arm, trying his absolute hardest to keep himself from hyperventilating too. "Come on Sammy, easy does it."

His brother nodded briefly, his eyes on the ceiling, although not much in his behavior changed. Dean noticed that there were little lines around the corners of his eyes. "Dean…" Sam's voice was at a level of fragility that was completely out of place in a man his size, and it made Dean flinch.

"I know, I know…" Dean responded in understanding, letting Sam claw his fingers into a fist in the fabric of his sleeve. He couldn't help wincing when he remembered the noise that the demon's fist had made against Sam's stomach, and the pain that it must have inflicted against his already troubled internal injuries. "We're getting out of here soon, Sam. I mean it. Just…" J_ust what? _

Sam seemed to sense that Dean had nothing to end his sentence with. "…Dean?" His voice had little horsepower.

"Yeah?"

"What'd… What'd he…"Sam stopped for a breath. "You know?"

Dean wasn't exactly sure what Sam was asking, although he knew who _he _was. Alistair. What did he… what? "Sammy?"

"What's he gonna do?"

Heart falling in his chest, Dean's eyebrows came forward into a V. "Not a damn thing, Sammy. I won't let him touch you."

"But…" Sam was clearly struggling with that. It was obvious that Alistair had thrown Dean across the room like a bug once, and that he could do it again.

"No butt's," Dean raised his voice a slight bit to try and sound confident. "Dude, you heard him. He's not going to do anything. He'll sit out there like the stupid douche he is while we slink out of here, and no one will be the wiser. Alright?"

There was disbelief in Sam's eyes, and Dean couldn't help missing the days where his word was law and Sam would believe anything he said. It would be so much easier that way. "How 'r we gonna do that?" Sam mumbled a reply that was barely audible.

"I have a plan." Dean said it before he could even process what it meant. _I have a plan?_ It was like the standard response when they were in trouble. "_Don't worry little brother. I have a plan. I'll take care of everything. Don't you worry about it. I'll take it all on. I have a plan." _That was just how it went. But Sam was just too old and too damn smart to fall for that anymore.

_"Right now, you are worthless." Alistair's voice played in his head like a broken record. "Hear me? Worthless._ _There isn't a single thing you can do, or a single reason for you to even be here other than I need a way to keep you out of harms way.__"_

Sam just leaned his head back against the stone with a loud sigh through his teeth, his face scrunched up tightly. He was trying extremely hard not to move his chest very much, but at the same time it looked like he was having trouble doing so because he needed to get enough breath. Dean felt for him like this more than he could describe. Why did this have to keep happening to them? He wished that for once, he could just take care of Sam properly. That he could take care of _himself_. Once, it had been easy. When they were growing up, the worst thing on Sam's path was their father. All Dean had to do was keep his pig-headed family from tearing each other's throats out and things would go smoothly. Well… _their_ kind of smoothly. But he was always okay with that. So how had they ended up chasing a dead-end hunt with white-eyed sons of bitches and getting hit by trucks and coming back from hell and watching Pamela die from a stab-wound that they could have prevented? None of that was in the Winchester handbook. Dean didn't know how to handle this mess. Sam was dying on a table in a demon-experiment underground and Dean couldn't help stop it! This was never what he wanted as a hunter. He didn't have a freaking _plan_!

_"__But your brother on the other hand, has something that I want. And until I get it, you two aren't getting out of here." _

Looking at his brother in earnest, Dean tried to find out exactly what was supposed to be meant by that. Something that Alistair wants? Well other than the obvious, that was? He was going about this in a way that Dean had ever seen before, so who was to say that he wasn't out for something more than pain this time? Maybe Sam actually had _something_ substantial that Alistair wanted. But what was that?

"Sammy?" Dean focused back on the present when he felt Sam's hands squirming in the handcuffs under his grip. He squeezed his brother's wrist comfortingly. "How are you feeling?"

Normally in a situation like this, Dean would have gotten at least a glare or eye roll at such a stupid question. But this time… nothing. That was a bigger clue than any answer would have been. Well if they weren't getting out of here right away, they needed to settle in.

"How about we get you nice and comfy, Sam?" Moving into first-aid mode, Dean slid his but off the stone table and turned to face his little brother fully. Sam was shivering, and still breathing in a rapid and shallow manner. Breathing in and out through his mouth, his jaw was relaxed and his eyes more or less unfocused on the ceiling. God, the kid was going into shock. Dean slid the jacket off his shoulders and covered his brother's torso with it, Sam flinching while he did so. Dean looked at his empty-walled surroundings in disappointment, knowing that elevating Sam's feet and legs was important in treating shock and keeping any internal bleeding from escalating. Suddenly struck with an idea, he slipped his shoes off of his feet, lifted Sam's ankles slightly, and slid them underneath. Sam moaned slightly as Dean did so, and he caught himself mumbling random words of apology in response. It wasn't much elevation, but at the highest point Sam's legs were up good four or five inches from the ground. And that was better than nothing.

"Dean…" Sam's voice was disproportionately small. "I… I'm…"

Sitting back beside Sam's leg's, Dean rubbed Sam's arm comfortingly. He could literally feel his brother shaking beside him. "Yeah?"

"I'm scared, man."

Chest suddenly filled with an odd heavy pressure, Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat. Sam hadn't said that to him since he was seven – it was pretty hard to forget how and when and why your baby brother was afraid – and hearing it now was almost as terrifying as the circumstances themselves. Sammy was hurting, he was terrified, and it was clear that it was all going to get a hell of a lot worse sooner or later.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean lied through his teeth, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his head pound from the shear wrongness of it. "I _promise_ you that it's going to be okay."

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**This chapter was a hard one to write (I have my reasons. I promise that they are good ones.) and I'm genuinely sorry that it took so LONG to post this. It was short, but I hope that you guys liked it. Please review and let me know what you thought!**


	10. Chapter 10

Wow… I remember when I said that this story would only be 2-3 chapters. I'm such a dirty little liar, aren't I? Well it wont be too terribly long, but it might take another chapter or two to reconcile.

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_ "Dean…" Sam's voice was disproportionately small. "I… I'm…"_

_ Sitting back beside Sam's leg's, Dean rubbed Sam's arm comfortingly. He could literally feel his brother shaking beside him. "Yeah?"_

_ "I'm scared, man."_

_ Chest suddenly filled with an odd heavy pressure, Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat. Sam hadn't said that to him since he was seven – it was pretty hard to forget how and when and why your baby brother was afraid – and hearing it now was almost as terrifying as the circumstances themselves. Sammy was hurting, he was terrified, and it was clear that it was all going to get a hell of a lot worse sooner or later._

_ "Its okay, Sammy." Dean lied through his teeth, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his head pound from the shear wrongness of it. "I__promise__you that it's going to be okay."_

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There was a breath of time where the silence threatened to overwhelm them, Sam's desperate eyes accusing and vivid on his brother. He wanted to believe him, but didn't. Where had the days gone when Sam trusted Dean's word on principle? Hell… Where they trusted each other at all?

"Don't give me that look, man. C'mere." Raising an eyebrow in a shaky attempt to lighten the mood – the only way to go was up, he figured – Dean tried to lift his brother's torso just enough so that he could sit on stone block with his back against the corner of the wall, and let Sam lean back against his chest. Letting out a surprised yelp through his teeth, Sam's back arched, his hand straining against the handcuffs for something to hold onto. "Sorry, sorry…" Dean grabbed Sam's arm in apology, and Sam squeezed his wrist as if it was a stress ball. This probably wasn't the best thing for Sam, or for the sake of the plan, but Dean couldn't think of anything else to do. He had already tried every possible exit.

It felt like they were little kids again, when they would both try to sit on the couch together and watch cartoons. Dean would start out with his legs in front of him, back to the arm rest comfortably, before his kid brother got bored of X-men comic books and decided that he too wanted a seat on the couch. Well Dean - being the stubborn arse that he was - was "unable" to move from his comfortable spot, and Sam – being the creative and equally stubborn nerd that he was – had to try and find a way to fit his gangly limbs on the couch too. By the end of it he was usually lying side by side with Dean, who had his arm against the arm rest while Sam was in an unconscious state leaning on Dean's chest, head on his shoulder like a pillow. Back before they were in the double-digits, when they could both fit on a couch together, when Sam still got afraid of noises or the dark, he often fell asleep that way. All these years later it felt like a natural motion to Dean, propping his little brother up against him, but this time he could notice how Sam had changed. Sam was no longer the smaller body, but he also seemed much more fragile than he had when they were little. Dean tried to make light of it, mumbling something or other about Sam's hair being too long and being in Dean's face, but the idea that Sam was _breaking_ in his arms tugged at his heartstrings cruelly. "You cold?" Wondering if he was being paranoid, Dean decided that Sam's body heat should be much higher than it was, and rubbed his chest in a shaky attempt to warm him up. Sam felt _stiff_, as if he was already dead and rigor mortis had already begun to set in. God, that was a dangerous thought. Trying to laugh it off, Dean chuckled dryly. "…You owe me a huge-ass piece of pie after this, little bro. _Apple _pie. W-With whip cream and one of those little round cherries." Thoughts turning to death and blood, Dean's voice cracked as his façade threatened to follow suit.

Normally, Sam would have rolled his eyes after a second's worth of pause, give what could only be described as the "Bitchface," and inform Dean about his horrendous lack of vocabulary. But Dean's hopes were cut short, as Sam's humour was inaudible. "M-Maras…chino c-cherries," Sam corrected with less gusto than the still air itself, causing Dean to give up on his attempts at distractions.

"Yeah… You're right, Sammy." Leaning his head back against the cold stone block wall behind him, Dean closed his eyes, breathing in the stale air of the cavern around them. He let his breathing slow, listening to the shallow drags of the back against his chest. Under his hand, Sam's ribs expanded and contracted at an unsteady rate, his abdominals clenching every few seconds instinctively. "Just relax, dude." Dean breathed slowly, hoping he could inspire Sam to do the same. "Breathe like me, alright. You have to slow down."

Hand on Sam's chest, paying attention to each rise and fall, Dean himself had to struggle to keep his breathing even. His problem, however, was anxiety. Sam had almost died. If he stopped breathing again, the chances of Dean getting him up and running were slim to none. Taking care of Sammy had always been the first priority, the only thing that mattered. He would be – and had been – willing to do anything for him. But if Sam died again, could he bring him back? He wasn't strong enough to do it again. Thinking about hell, about Alistair, Dean's temples throbbed. "Sam?" His voice was rough.

Sam's head tilted up into Dean's chin, listening. "…Hmm?" He grumbled silently in reply.

Exhaling deeply, Dean felt Sam's hair flutter from his breath. "What did Alistair mean? What do you have that he wants?"

He could almost hear the wheels in his little brother's head turning. After a moment Sam stilled, his chest evening out. Dean waited, momentarily concerned, before he heard a soft sigh.

"You can tell me this shit, you know that." Squeezing Sam's arm easily, Dean tried to probe for an answer. Sam knew what Alistair wanted, but for some reason he was reluctant to say. Why was that? Confused, he tried to remember any connection between Alistair and his brother. They had just seen Alistair in the spirit realm – or whatever the hell it was called - and Dean hadn't noticed anything abnormal about the relationship between Sam and Alistair. Mutual hate maybe, but nothing of a connection. They had only met a few times, and nothing had occurred between them that Dean hadn't been present for.

Well… other than what had happened in the graveyard. Dean had gotten knocked out and then, according to Sam, Alistair fled after he found that he couldn't toss Sam around? And Alistair had made that comment, before he tried to kill Tessa; something about Sam being unable to use his powers without his meat?

Dean contemplated that for a while in the absence of an answer from Sam. He'd made his viewpoints on Sam using his powers quite clear, and vocalized frustration at the fact that he wouldn't tell Dean how he was getting his mojo. However he was doing it, was the secret really that important? Important enough that Alistair would do anything to find an answer, perhaps?

"Still waiting here, dude…"

"I d-don't know what he wants." Sam's voice was a little bit stronger than it had been before, almost forced.

Sam's dying was not enough to keep Dean's annoyance away. "_Really_, Sam? Thou doth protest too much if you ask me."

Then Dean heard a little sigh. It was just a quiet release of breath, so quick that he wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't been so close. It was just there, but heavy in itself. The sigh of a burden.

"Look, I know I've been giving you a hard time over your demon powers and stuff – and I'm not saying that I'm letting you off the hook or anything – but what… what do you think you are going to accomplish here?" Drawing blanks, Dean both regretted and didn't regret being so harsh. " Honestly Sammy," Hesitant to find the correct words, Dean started again. "Is it worth dying over? So what if Alistair knows how you're doing it?"

There it was again; the sigh. Dean breathed his own inhale immediately afterwards, as if his own lugs had just been emptied. In and out, like a two-manned accordion, went their breathing. It was as if the pain in Sam's chest restricted Dean's breathing as well. He was the keeper of a brother who needed serious upkeep. A throbbing uneasiness danced up Dean's esophagus, but he found the movements soothing. When he exhaled, Sammy breathed in. His little brother kept breathing.

" 'm the only one w-who can, D-Dean." When Dean had thought that Sam would refrain from answering once again, he went against the grain. Dean heard him swallow. It sounded like a thousand knives in his throat.

"Is that what Ruby's been telling you?" Dean couldn't help it; his voice grew cold.

In return, Sam clammed up. There was another sigh. While the first one had said "the world is so heavy," this one was annoyed. It was a "you don't understand" sigh.

"We still have the knife," Dean offered as a parting gift. "Cas can help us trap Lilith. It's not just on you, Sammy. There's a billion ways to skin a cat, and sending Lilith down south with your _mind_ is only one of them."

There was a long pause. And then another. Brow furrowed, Dean closed his eyes. "…It's not the fact that you are exorcising demons with your mind that bothers me, Sam. I'm just worried that something could go wrong. Killing Samhain had you bleeding out of your nose for over an hour, and he was an understudy compared to Lilith or Alistair. You tried to pull him once already, remember? Didn't even ruffle the guy's hair. People aren't meant to have that much power in their body. And that's not on you, that's just how it is. I can't have you blowing up or having a brain aneurism or something."

The conversation remained one-sided while Dean waited, and he couldn't help feeling frustrated that Sam wasn't holding up his end. And afraid of what that might point to. Why wasn't Sam speaking up to defend his side of the argument?

Neck tightening, Dean huffed. "God-damnit, Sam! Say something! Anything!"

Sam flinched, the muscles in his back tightening against Dean's chest. The breath that was taken sharply cut into Dean's own lungs.

"Sammy, I'm..." Clenching his teeth, Dean shook his head against the cold wall behind it. "I'm so" –

" 'm s-sorry, Dean." Before Dean could finish, Sam had answered with the same. It wasn't just physical pain in his voice this time.

Was Sam trying to make amends? This wasn't happening. This wasn't freaking happening! "Don't do that," Dean hissed angrily, trying to keep his tone steady. "Don't try and tie up loose ends like this is the last time we will ever fight about this. Tomorrow you're still going to be a stubborn ass."

He could _feel_ Sam denying the possibility of a tomorrow. God, there _had_ to be a tomorrow.

"Dean" –

"Don't!" Quietly, Dean cut Sam off. He wouldn't sit here and listen to a good-bye speech or some lamented apology. There was no need, since Sam wasn't dying.

The outburst had drained Dean's already sasquatch-squashed lungs, and as he paused to draw breath, he realized that Sam was trembling. And that that Sam wasn't arguing, he was begging.

Oh God.

" 'ean…" If Dean listened carefully, he could almost hear the pressure under Sam's ribs. Helplessly, Sam dug his nails into Dean's arm, drawing blood.

Even more so, Dean let Sam find his other hand and let it get the feeling squeezed out of it. "

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I know, Sammy. I didn't mean to… Just don't pay attention to me, alright? You know I'm a dim-wit sometimes."

Nails tugging at the fabric of Dean's jacket and pressing into the muscle underneath, Sam swallowed slowly, feeling his chest rise and fall like a high tide. There was the sound of agonizing panting somewhere in earshot, but he swore that he couldn't be the one making those noises. Could he?

On and on Dean went, back-tracking and side-stepping his previous statements and questions. Sam caught part of the rant, but not much. Although either way, the damage had already been done. You couldn't cover a hand grenade with a band-aid. Dean's words – and more importantly, the intent behind them – had already hit their mark. The fact was that Sam was treading a fine line here. Was it really worth it to die for the demon blood? In a way, Pamela had tried to warn him to stop it, hours ago when they had left her at the hotel. God, he could see her now. Half sitting-up on the bed – _his_ bed – with her hair over her face, crimson wetting the down comforter underneath her. What would she think of him dying to keep his secret now? Were his plans to save the world any good if he was in the ground?

"_If you think you have good intentions, think again."_

Yet again, her words struck him. For so long he had doubted Ruby, the demon blood, his destiny. And after a long hard haul he had finally gotten himself hard enough to tune out his weaker self. What was right and important would rule out in the end, and Ruby could show him how. That had been his take for a long time. But now the doubt was back, and in the valley of the shadow of death it was hard to ignore.

What did it matter if he died with his secret told or kept? Either way, he was the only one who could save the world. It made more sense to live and save the world than to die with his secret in tact.

That is… if he continued to drink the demon blood in the first place.

A swell of pain interrupted his train of thought, blocking out every other sense, and he jackknifed and arched his back instinctively to get away from it. It felt as if a balloon of tension had popped underneath his ribs. Instead of the expected release, he had gotten more agony.

"God, Sammy. Wha" – A loud knocking sound synced up with the motion of Sam's head hitting something solid, and Dean was silenced. "Ugh… Son of a… Sammy, it's okay – just …" Just then Sam noticed that Dean was no longer a warm mass behind him, and he felt flat stone under his shoulder-blades. His hands pulled at the cuffs to their full restraint with their own agenda, and when his body jerked forwards, something caught his shoulders and pushed him back onto the table, revealing where Dean had transported. "Shhh, Sammy, it's…." Sam saw a hand in front of his face at some point, but nothing in his head matched up. Why was Dean telling him to be quiet? And who was making that god-awful noise?

This was it, Sam thought. Dean may have gotten a lucky break and pulled of the heimlich maneuver, but there was no freaking way he was getting Sam out of this one. As much as he wanted to, Dean could only save Sam's life so many times. Hell, he sold his soul for him! Sam knew for a fact that his big brother would not – _could_ not – do it again. And while there had been a fraction of hope in his head that he would get out of this alive, the antagonizing bout of white-hot pain in his insides was enough to blast his hopes to shreds. He was going to die.

"Gah – Dea…. Uh…" Sam wasn't sure what he wanted to say, if he could find the strength to get any words out, but he couldn't help feeling like he had to say something. Last words, protests, anything. All that came out, however, were beginnings of words that melded into screams. It finally clicked in that the noises were his, which terrified him. Here he was, the only man who could stop the apocalypse from happening, and he couldn't even control the noises coming out of his own throat.

"Breath through it, Sammy. It will pass. Come on…" Dean's hands fluttered like confused birds over Sam, wanting to help but unsure what to do. The great hunter, man's man, didn't know what to do. Sam felt his big brother's fingers slide inside his, and his hand clenched onto them with no remorse of it's own.

"Dean p-p-please…" Sam squinted up at his brother through fogy and tear-showered eyes.

"Shhh! Save you're breath, man. Just calm down!" Dean sounded almost angry as he held a hand to silence Sam, although his eyes were wide as saucers and there was no colour in his face. He looked like a fate worse than death himself.

"I c… I ca…." God, now he was choking. There was suddenly something in his throat that hadn't been there before, and he tasted the salty-sweet taste of blood. Again. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stand it. "J-Just… just do it." When Sam opened his eyes to search for Dean's, his brother's figure danced in front of him like a mirage. He tried to look past the protective big brother to a man who could still see reason. Sam was going to die either way. The best thing Dean could do would be to put him out of his misery. "You've g… got your g-gun."

For a long time Dean didn't say anything, and his grip in Sam's hand loosened. When he spoke - after what felt like a year of waiting – Sam could barely hear him. "Sam… Don't say that" –

"P-Please!" While Sam had tried his hardest to enunciate, he could barely understand himself anymore.

He knew that Dean did, however, because his hand slid out of Sam's. And it twitched ever so slightly towards his back waistband, where Sam knew that he still had his .45 handgun. Dean grew very still. "Sammy…"

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For those of you celebrating Christmas, Ashura, Day, Bodhi Day, Virgin of Guadalupe, Santa Lucia Day, Las Posadas, Hanukkah, Kwanzza, and any other celebration this year, I hope you have a wonderful time! And Happy New Year to come! Go 2011!

Reviews are like Candy. That is all I want for Christmas this year. :P Please, Santa-readers, I've been good! *wink*


	11. Chapter 11

"P-Please!" While Sam had tried his hardest to enunciate, he could barely understand himself anymore.

He knew that Dean did, however, because his hand slid out of Sam's. And it twitched ever so slightly towards his back waistband, where Sam knew that he still had his .45 handgun. Dean grew very still. "Sammy…"

Sam gaped at his brother with all the meaning in the world. With as much self-control as he could grasp, he held Dean's eyes as if without them, they would loose each other forever. "W… We h-had a good r-run, Dean…"

_But it's over now._ The truth was hot in Sam's gut; literally. Although the prospect of death terrified him, he couldn't help but be comforted by the sight of Dean's wet-cheeked face watching him imploringly. Dean was with him… there was no better way to die. In fact, on the grand scheme of things he considered himself lucky. A hunter could die in any number of horrible and gruesome ways, and all in all being put out of his misery by a big brother didn't seem so bad. And Dean was right – he was _always _right – about Lilith… maybe someone else could stop her. The whole world couldn't possibly sit on his shoulders. There _had_ to be another way.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this, Sammy." With trepidation, Dean brought his hands before him, trembling, and stared at the gun that lay there. "I can't…"

"D-Damn it... D…Dean…" Sam bit back his words behind clenched teeth, screwing his eyes shut as another wave of white pain seared his bones. Beside him, he sensed Dean jump and reach out a hand to his shoulder.

"It'll pass, Sammy. Just give it a minute…. We'll figure this out, okay? Just…" The air hovered in suspense as Dean searched for some words of obligatory comfort that wouldn't come. He couldn't find any.

"N…."

For a few minutes Dean sat in silence, giving out a comforting arm-squeesh or "shh" every once in a while that did absolutely nothing to help. They both knew that he was stalling, but he couldn't bring himself to finish what he had started.

"Okay Sammy, okay..." Cringing as Sam made another secondary noise of anguish, Dean grabbed hold of his arm. He tightened his grip on the .45. "Just relax. It's gonna be alright."

Sammy and he locked eyes again, and it was clear that he believed Dean's words. "D-Don't go... do anyt-thing r-reckles after t-this..." Expression suddenly stern, Sam narrowed his eyes in warning. It was eerie how well he knew his big brother, how easily he could sense the budding thought that could lead to a job gone wrong. Or worse... a deal.

"I wont, Sam." Nodding firmly, Dean lied through his teeth. Who knew what he could do, would do. But Sam couldn't know that.

"L-L-Listen..." Sam shuddered on, even though Dean could feel the spasms that still tore through his torso with every breath. "Y-you were r-right. I've... I've been..."

"Water under the bridge, man." Dean shrugged away Sam's apology, unable to bear it. "I don't care what you did wrong anymore."

It appeared that those words were enough. Eyes wide and teary, Sam nodded - trembled, more like - in answer to some invisible question. He was ready. Dean wasn't.

"See you soon, Sammy..."

It was all that Dean wanted to say goodbye, but he couldn't bring himself to get the words out. Instead, he brought his attention to the gun in his palm. Sam's eyes followed his like a hawk, and he froze when he saw what Dean was holding. Dean could see the fear in his eyes, but more so the resignation that lingered behind it. Sam wanted this. Raising his hand, Dean swallowed behind a tight Adam's apple. His arm lifted to just above Sam's head. Then, with a strong swing of his arm, Dean brought the but of the gun down on Sam's forehead. It impacted his temple, causing his head to smack down on the stone harshly, and Sam's eyes drifted closed. It wasn't until Dean let the gun fall to the floor that he realized just how much his hands were shaking.

"I k-know I'm a selfish bastard..." Stuttering just about as much as Sam had been, but out of exhaustion, Dean spoke into the silence and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "But I'm not going to kill you, Sammy."

Dean felt separate from his body; it became a sack of flesh and bones that weighed him down, and he felt the two of them sink down to the floor. Leaning against the back of the stone table, he pulled his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around them tightly. His teeth ground together and hid a pent-up scream.

"Alright, you son of a bitch…. I'm praying. Are you happy?" Dean turned his face sky-ward and squinted into the vast blackness. "I need a little back-up on this one, Cas. Can you drop in and work your mojo? _Please?_"

Hours passed - really, minutes passed – before Dean lowered his eyes and leaned his head against the cold stone in submission. "You know… I'm kind of a dick to you half of the time. But in my defense, you have no sense of personal-space, and don't get my jokes. But man…" Shrugging, Dean tried to visualize Castiel getting his message. "I owe you one, which is pretty much my way of saying _thank you_. And I don't have to tell you why. I still don't know why you've put so much faith in us… in me… Considering everything that you know about me." Nervously running his nails up and down the fabric of his pant-leg, Dean stumbled on his words. "But for some reason you keep showing up, and you've gotten me out of some pretty sticky situations. I don't deserve to be asking you for anything else…. But this is _Sam_ who needs your help. I know you guys think he's a demon-blood freak, which he kind of is, but he's a _good guy._" Dean rambled on to the nothingness above him, and clenched a hand-full of his pant-leg in thought. "As much as it annoys the crap out of me he loves kids and cute little animals, and holds the door for women without trying to get into their pants, and puts up with my shitty junk food. He believed in angels even before you guys showed up, and thinks that it's _his_ job to stop the apocalypse. _Sam _is the guy that you should be looking out for, not me. So… just get your feathery ass down here and save his life. He's been praying to you guys since he was like… five. I think he deserves to cash in on some feather-points. _Please._" Cheeks damp and puffy by that last note, Dean leaned his face into the crook between his knees. After years of absent fathers, absent saviors in general… he thought he would be better prepared to have his prayers left unanswered. But he wasn't.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The man's coat swished around his legs in a whirl of black fabric as he approached, stopping behind the one who had beckoned him. "I'm here to answer your call," he spoke up firmly, seeking to make his presence known to the trench-coated figure who had his back to him.

"Thank you, Techaiah." Voice husky, the figure turned to face his companion. "I am in dire need this time."

"How so, Castiel?" Techaiah gave Castiel the up-and-down warily, noting his sloppy attire and grim expression. Although he would never say so, his fellow soldier-in-arms looked more and more human every day.

"I have located Alistair," Castiel informed him with much less gusto than such a triumph invited. "But we must move quickly. He is holding Sam and Dean Winchester captive, and I fear the worst if we do not siege the fort as soon as possible."

Techaiah rose his eyebrows in surprise stiffly. "That is quite a feat, Castiel. But I must say, the capture of Alistair is much more important than the rescue of two humans. We need to act swiftly, yes, but _smartly_. Are you sure that you are not letting your fondness for these boys overshadow" -

"You know their importance just as well as I!" Castiel interrupted rudely, taking an aggressive step foreword. "Now assemble a team. You will meet me at dawn with enough numbers to complete this mission smoothly"

Without further protest, Techaiah huffed dryly under his breath. "How did you locate him?"

Castiel neglected to answer, and after it seemed apparent that his question would be tossed aside, Techaiah nodded in surrender.

"I will send you direct coordinates by revelation in a few hours."

"Of course."

With that abrupt message, Castiel vanished, on to continue his quest. Techaiah's eyebrows met, watching the space where the fellow angel disappeared with curiosity. The whole situation was curious, indeed. And Castiel himself was curious, indeed. But Techaiah would obey this new order, if only to see how the events before him would play out.

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I hope you have enjoyed, and please feel free to review!

I wish that I did not have any responsibilities and could dedicate more time to writing. Sadly, at this stage of my life hobbies are a luxury that there is not much leeway for. But I have decided to make an attempt to wedge in more time for writing, NO MATTER WHAT (?) because life is always busy. And I do not want to let that get in the way of my fan-fictions, which makes me happy and I have come to consider a responsibility in itself. So please know that although I've had a lot of stuff in the way the past year, I am working on it and will make an effort to post more regularly. I think we both want this. I will not bore you with explanations, because we all have personal issues to deal with. I'm so grateful to you for being patient with me and taking the time to read and review my work, which means more to me than I can ever say. So THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. Really.

**Till next time, thanks!**

PS, for those of you who read **Wayward Legacy** (or would like to), I have a **trailer **up on youtube. If you are interested, watch it and let me know what you think. For those of you who HAVE read the fic, how well does the vid advertise it? What could be changed next time? What did you enjoy about it? For those of you who haven't yet read the fic, does this add make you interested in the fic at all? Why or why not? I am curious for your input on this! You can send me this information via email/personal message (fanfic or youtube), or by commenting on the video itself. Please do not post it as a review to this story, because it does not concern "Bad Intentions" specifically and may confuse other readers.

**To watch the video**

**To to youtube, and search for "Wayward Legacy Trailer". The video will be the FIRST one on the list! **

Sorry to say, I can not add a hyperlink into a chapter. Fan-fiction has disabled this application.


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